বাংলা English

Closed bars

Bars closed for pure nastiness
under the arcades they leave mute witnesses
iron shutters with narrow meshes
 creaking in the swampy wind.

 A tinkling echo at the counter resounds
 of the meeting of edges of speeches
 no more unspoken than not given kisses
 in cheery cocktails of widespread cordiality.

 Nothing else remains in the rainy evening
than handle intercoms at random
bright asterisks of surrendered existences
 to escape from the sadness that assails
 certain hearts- eyes of snail half-closed…

Shoot me here

Shoot me here
 between epicardium and ventricle
 I’ll make a thud in the corner
 don’t hesitate, do “boom”!

 So shoot highly well
 the bullet with care and method
take aim and remember
the shooting range trainings …

 But be careful
 don’t shatter my ankle
 it’s painful and unsightly

a dismal limping condemned
and don’t hurt my ear
 be good and quickly kill me
 we come soon to the epilogue
 take off the stopper of my soul …

 I understand you, my dear
 you are obeying an order
 but it’s only a mechanical action
have neither anxiety nor panic
 riddle me just a little
 pulp my brain as a mash
 among the shrubs suppress me
 annihilate my heartbeat
we’ll not suffer no more.

And don’t grieve
 if between us there’s no dialogue
 in this situation it’s undisputed
just send me to hell now
and let’s finish it here…

I barely understand

I barely understand
to be satisfied with a dream
traversed by traffic
 of amaranth aperitifs
and of demons hanged
 to a drunk umbrella
the buzzing of the horns
 crowd in hurry for nothing
 ropes stretched to trams
glued to the mouth
and the barking breath
 the clamor of taxis
doesn’t disperse the urgency
 to look for you and kidnap us
 if I barely understand
my face disconnected
 frayed as a shoe lace
floating in the darkness
of a pierced poor throat
 by a broken light traffic …

Roberto Marzano
Roberto Marzano, Genoa, Italy, 7 March 1959, poet and storyteller "without a tie", guitarist and original songwriter. Staggering between feelings and visions, he pours out the ultra-popular neighborhoods where he lived, of closed bars, vagrants, drunks, diabolical televisions, crazy loves, metaphysical supermarkets, hairdressers, night owls and inanimate objects to which he gives a voice.

©All Rights Reserved by Torkito Tarjoni

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